


Same Time Next Year

by San



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/San/pseuds/San
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a one-night stand is just that -- even if it happens multiple times over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Time Next Year

John drops into the chair next to me, startling me as he runs his hands through his hair. I'm surprised to see him smirk at me, his eyes already irritated from the cigarette smoke in this green room. He's been standoffish and nasty this entire tour, which I keep explaining away as his reaction to his divorce. It isn't, of course. We're losing Johnny the same way we lost Roger and Andy. I sigh, and he licks his lips and then raises one eyebrow.

"Oh, all right," I say a bit waspishly. "Since you want me to ask."

He breaks into a grin.

"She's here," he says, watching my face with that same smirk.

I haven't any idea what he's talking about. I don't have any idea what woman he's got in his life that could possibly cause this response.

WaCoo looks over at the two of us.

"Who's she?" he asks. I'd like to know that, too - the only thing I know for sure is that if John starts quoting Shakespeare I'm going to hit him.

John shrugs, watching me. He never even glances at Warren.

"Nick knows...or at least he should," he finally says, as the silence draws on too long. "She'll be pretty mad if you've forgotten her," he continues, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

"Oh, yeah, you remember," John laughs. If I hadn't been so caught off guard I'd enjoy it; it's been a long time since I've heard him laugh at anything.

"Sheila?" I ask, my voice quite weak. "How do you know?"

"I bumped into her getting off the elevator," John answers, drawing himself back out of the chair. "She said hello, and that she'd see you after the show. Oh, and she wanted to know if it was true about you and Maddie."

I sighed, feeling more blood rushing to my face than had left in the first place.

"What did you tell her?"

"What do you think?"

I sighed. He'd told her that Madeline and I had split up, of course. His current therapist is very big on truth-telling, no matter the situation. I find I'm not that angry, though.

"Who's Sheila?" Warren asks, and I just shake my head, feeling a tingling in my palms and my groin at the thought of her.

"Someone I know, Warren," I say, keenly aware of the path my thoughts are taking. "Someone I haven't seen since Julie and I got divorced."

John is leaving the room; I get up and follow him. I don't want to get drawn into a conversation with Warren about She. I never talk to anyone about her. John only knows because he _knows_. She's one of those things he and I never have to talk about, like our divorces. We just understand.

Although I'm distracted through the show it doesn't hurt the band's performance any. I keep wishing I could see beyond the stage lights, to know if She's out there, but I know I wouldn't be able to see her even if she was. She's not prone to getting pit seats. She hates the crowding.

"Besides," she'd purred to me, once, when I'd made the offer, "I can get as close as I want just by asking."

True enough. I wondered why she'd reappeared now, though, as we left the stage after the encore. It's been...God, years. Like I told Warren, not since the divorce was finalized. Of course, I'd already started seeing Madeline by then...

I'm distracted in my musings as I see Simon bend down to kiss her cheek. There's no mistaking She for an ordinary fan. There never has been. She's tiny next to Simon - she's shorter than I am, even - but she's perfect. A fairy princess, and the years that have been less than kind to me have left few marks on her. Raven-dark hair falls in waves over her milky-white shoulders. What a cliche - I laugh at myself as she turns to face me, and my smile broadens as I bow to her, folding my hand over my stomach and clicking my heels together. Our private joke.

Simon leans over and whispers something in her ear, but she just reaches up and pats his cheek and leaves him standing there, watching after her as she comes over to me. I drink her in, the way her dress appears to have casually slipped off her shoulders like she can't be bothered to pull the straps back up. It's not quite a formal gown, not quite a cocktail dress and she wears it like she wears everything I've ever seen her in - like she'd fit in wearing it wherever she was.

"Hello, Nick," she says. Now that we're close I can see the lines time has etched around her azure eyes and the generous red mouth that I'm already bending in to kiss. She wraps her slender arms around my back as our lips meet and we attempt to devour each other.

When we finally straighten up I catch a couple of fans throwing jealous looks our way, and Johnny's amused gaze. He can laugh all he likes.

"Hello, She," I reply, brushing a hair that I know she has somehow artfully allowed to stray away from her face. "It's been a while."

"So it has," she says, her voice husky. "Do you have to stay here?"

I should...but I don't want to.

"No."

She smiles, a slow sensuous spreading of her lips as she looks up at me, her eyes half-lidded.

We don't say much on the way back to the hotel, but then again it's hard to talk when you're in liplock. She knows just how to touch me. She always has.

I don't know if we're alone in the elevator or not and I don't care - I don't remember the last time I surrendered to passion this easily and I don't care about that either. All I care about is the silky feel of the skin of her thigh beneath her skirt when I slide my hand up past the top of her stocking, the pepperminty taste of her mouth as we explore each other with our tongues. I get something of a shock when I slide my hand around the front of her thigh and my thumb brushes wiry hair and bare skin. She smiles at me.

"A gift for you," she says, throatily, as the elevator doors slide open on my floor. She pulls away, grasping my wrist and tugging me along behind her. "Which room?"

I tell her the number, half-tempted to pin her against the wall and just have her there, and to Hell with the consequences, but that's not her style. Nor mine, not really, but the blood is pounding in my groin.

My suite is dark but we somehow make our way to the bedroom without killing ourselves on furniture, shedding pieces of clothing along the way. She reaches down and caresses my erection, her fingernails gently scratching along the underside of my cock and I moan, bending to stroke one erect nipple with my tongue. We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and I seek her mouth with mine again.

I linger over her lips as she runs her hands over my body, down my spine, one finger parting my ass and tracing back up my spine from my balls...

"God, woman."

"No," she says, and I know she is smiling as she bites gently at my ear. "Just woman."

"She..."

"Yes," she says, simply, guiding me into her as she wraps her legs around my waist. We both shudder at the connection, too close, and I am just coherent enough to know that I can't make it slow this time. She draws me closer to her as I thrust, devouring her with kisses until she arches her back and I feel her nails drive into my back, little  
half-crescents of pain snaking in with the pleasure of her climax and I reach my own peak deep inside her.

We lie there for a while, drowsing together, until our breathing has finally settled down. There are a hundred things bubbling under my skin that I want to say to her, but somehow the silence is more comfortable.

She finally stretches, and turns on the light next to the bed.

"Have to be anywhere tomorrow?"

I shake my head, drinking her in.

"We've two dates here."

She smiles, again slowly, and cuddles back down into the bed, running her hand along my hip.

I take the hand and bring it to my lips, caressing the center of her palm with my thumb as I kiss the back.

"Again?" I ask, with a soft chuckle.

"Of course," she answers. "It will be easier to take our time, now."

I shake my head.

"Stay with me, She," I say, almost before I've thought the words.

For a moment she stares at me in such a way that I've the urge to go check the mirror and see if I've grown a third head, and then she laughs. It's a good thing I adore her laugh.

She catches the look on my face and bites at her lip, trying to stop herself. "I'm sorry, Nick," she says, the contrite tone marred by a couple of giggles that slip past her guard. "It's just...no."

"No?" I say, as surprised by her denial as I was by my offer. "Why not?"

She suddenly stops laughing, her face compassionate as I prop myself up on one elbow to look at her. She brushes my hair away from my face.

"Poor Nick. You were quite serious, weren't you," she says with a sigh. "But that isn't what we're about at all."

I raise an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"

She smiles again and shakes her head slightly, running one finger along my collarbone. I watch the swell of her breasts rise and fall as she breathes, letting her think about her answer.

"You know it isn't," she finally says, meeting my eyes. "How long have we known each other?"

I have to shake my head.

"I'm not sure anymore. Years."

She nods.

"And not once, in all that time, have you ever asked anything about me, Nick. Nor I you. You have your life, and I have mine...when we come together it's marvelous. We just fit. But this isn't about forever. You don't want me as a mother to your daughter," she says. I don't know how she can be so calm. "I love these moments with you because  
we aren't crowding each other. Nothing matters," she continues, stretching herself alongside me and cupping my balls with her hand, "except losing ourselves in flesh."

I feel more stricken than I expect, and she studies my face for a long moment before continuing. "It isn't me you want to keep, Nick. I don't know," she sets her finger on my lips, "and I don't want you to tell me what's going on. We don't need to know each other that well."

"You keep coming back," I say, feeling a bit resentful.

"Only when one or the other of us is free," she answers easily, as though she's thought about this. "Why do you think we didn't see each other the whole time you were with Julieanne? Or with Madeline?"

"But..." I start, then realize I don't know what I want to say.

She smiles and bends down, kissing me lightly.

"Maybe I keep coming back because you aren't trying to hold me," she says, after several such light kisses, her hands stroking along my body. I feel myself responding, slowly. "Or maybe nothing lasts. Does it really matter?"

"I suppose not," I say, rolling over so I can pin her beneath me and stealing a deeper kiss. She still tastes of peppermint, and it isn't long before we resume our earlier activities. And after that she holds me as I find myself telling her drowsily about John and the band. I know she's listening, even as I find myself fading faster  
toward sleep.

I wake, late in the morning, alone. No surprise there, although my heart sinks a bit at first. She said she wouldn't stay, though.

I don't start feeling better until I've had a long shower, soaking the night from my skin and thinking about all the things She said. I do hold on too long. I clung to Julie, to Mads, just the way I'm clinging to John, trying to force things to last. Maybe I ought to try her way for a while.

It doesn't surprise me that I've come round to her way of thinking.

She was right.

She always is.


End file.
